


Resurfacing

by fckyeahgallavich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dark and Triggering, Dealing With Trauma, Internal Monologue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, reliving trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Mickey comes face to face with his rape in a visceral way.It's impossible to take a complete breath or have a complete thought and it's the hardest thing Mickey's ever endured since...





	Resurfacing

**Author's Note:**

> I've had my own breakthroughs with my own traumas and I found it cathartic to write about it through Mickey's canon trauma. This is super dark and I wasn't sure if I should post it or not, but with some encouragement I have decided to go ahead and post it; so if you don't like it or are upset by the content, please be kind to me and understand that I'm not trying to further exploit Mickey's pain, I'm exploring how he may have felt with his trauma from my own experiences.

_ Feel better now! _

_ Feel better now!! _

_ Feel  _ better  _ now! _

_ Feel… better…  _ now?

The more his own words circled in his brain… the more they sounded like a question, not a declaration. The more he tasted the lie, though at the time it'd felt like the truth. 

But he’d meant it! He  _ had  _ felt better.

But now all he felt was the shock running through his arm… the shudder in his knuckles and reverberation as they’d met Ian Gallagher’s jaw.

He’d punched plenty of people. In the gut, in the ribs, in the back, in the face…

And though he usually felt that same thrill of pain in his knuckles which would be sore as fuck for a couple of days, he didn’t usually mind it. But now he stared at the purple ridges below the swells of ink on his fingers, studied these marks as though he was determined to know each one by shape and color.

To put it lightly, he felt like shit.

But why  _ should  _ he feel like shit?! HUH?

He’d stopped answering Gallagher’s calls, put himself as far from everyone has he could possibly put himself, stopped going to school, stopped going to the Alibi and Kash & Grab, stopped being anywhere he could expect to find Gallagher… Well, except their spot…

Okay, so maybe he wanted to see Ian, but…. Jesus Christ, just… Not right then.

He just needed  _ five fucking minutes  _ to himself and that was the  _ one fucking place  _ in the city of Chicago where Terry Milkovich and, basically anyone other than Ian, wouldn’t find him. 

His core seized, forcing his jaws open and once again he was forced to retch into the toilet. A cold sweat matted his hair and forced more retches through his body as he suddenly saw Ian’s agonized eyes, watching him through tears as he…

His throat constricted and he heaved once again, but nothing came out but a sob. It sounded pathetic and he wanted to punch himself in the face for making that sound for Ian Gallagher. Another boy.

A boy he couldn’t have… but wanted so,  _ so  _ fucking desperately.

Well… that’d done the trick. After that stunt he'd pulled, he was certain he'd thoroughly chased the ginger off... for good.

His eyes snapped open to his boot and three drops of blood at the tip tensed his leg muscles so tight, he couldn’t move his ass back around to dry heave into the toilet behind him.

Then came the sensations he always worked  _ so hard  _ to suppress.

Her fingers, perfectly polished, long and slender, on his lower thigh, just above the knee. And then… And his throat once again constricted as the sensation washed over him…. Her heat right over him, sinking on him — why was he hard for her? He  _ hated  _ the feeling of her wrapped around him,  _ loathed  _ that she was the one sitting on his lap, felt  _ sick  _ that his body was responding like this. He…  _ he’d hated it!  _ So  _ how the fuck did his body respond like that? _

This was one of dozens of questions that circled his brain at least fifty times a day. He’d almost convinced himself that he must have liked it since he had in fact tossed her over and… Well, he’d come.

But the only way he’d gotten there was from imagining what it would be like to top Ian for the first time. It was all wrong, he’d never do him face to face like that and never on a couch, right out in the open like that. But that’s what he’d had to do.

Which only made it that much more unbearable to see Ian in person.

He wanted to think of Ian now, but the more he thought of Ian to escape these memories… wouldn’t he one day do the reverse and think of  _ her  _ when he was with him?

… If he was ever with him again. 

A cough tore through his chest and he realized it was no longer dry heaving, but sobs. The phantom of her fingers wrapped around him and yanked and it was like  _ fire.  _ Searing hot like a hollow pipe heated til it glowed red sinking down over him. He clenched his legs together and curled over them — curling so tightly that he could describe himself as a cocoon. 

At least no one could hurt him if he were wrapped in a cocoon…

Actually — No, that wasn’t even true. Assholes ripped cocoons off trees and stomp on them all the time. There was  _ nowhere  _ to be safe.

Which was why he was going through this bullshit to begin with.

His throat kept constricting… It made it hard to take a complete breath and it also kept making him think he was going to start vomiting or dry heaving again, but… No. His muscles just kept tensing and releasing… tensing and releasing… tensing and constricting and twisting and… releasing?

Even when he took a breath, he felt the base of his throat where it almost seemed to sink into itself… 

His lungs… they were already full, but… No, they couldn’t be full, he hadn’t taken a full breath in  _ hours.  _ But…. But every time he tried to suck in air, his stomach reached into his chest and his lungs expanded but no air could actually get through.

His cheeks tingled like they did when her breasts had brushed them and he jerked back to escape them, though flicking his eyes open reminded him (consciously) that he was in his bathroom and that bitch was nowhere near him.

For now.

They'd share this bathroom in only a few short days. She was moving in immediately and Mickey had absolutely zero say in it. Just this morning he and his dad had moved in a second mattress to press next to his to make into some sort of pitiful makeshift king mattress. It was only small comfort to know that though the sheet covering the mattresses would make it look like they were sharing one surface, he would have his side and she'd have hers. 

But knowing that and being okay with it are two different things.

Like knowing he had to force Ian to leave him alone and dealing with the consequences of knowing it. He supposed he deserved to relive that nightmare over and over for eternity for what he'd just done to the only person in the world who had fully accepted — fucking _embraced — _ who he is. 

But who actually deserved this? Who deserved to have their body betray them and to have someone else take control over the _one fucking thing _that should be rightfully yours?

For as many shitty things as Mickey has done, he couldn't imagine what he could have possibly done in his eighteen years to deserve this.

His legs clenched together again, staving off the phantom sensation of _her _on him... But it didn't make any difference. Because he'd still felt that sensation when she'd been on top of him... below him. And the palm of her hand, barely a factor on his knee, was suddenly pressed firm against his chest, scalding hot like a branding iron. He felt her thighs working on either side of his jean-clad legs, and groaned as he begged whatever demon was casting these images into his mind to just _fuck off!_

_ God... _ He'd been in her and he'd wanted _nothing the fuck more _than to be literally _any-fucking-where else! _And even now when she was _gone _and he was safe and he _could, _no, _should _be able to move on... She was _everywhere._

He suddenly recognized that his ass was numb. He wasn't ready to get up because he wasn't _nearly _together enough to call himself "pulled together," but he knew he couldn't stay in here much longer. His limbs kept twitching, he kept wincing and ducking and wanting to bat away phantom hands and punch in the direction of phantom breaths.

He needed to get used to this... They were going to be man and wife and... Ugh, she was surely going to have needs. 

Fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to punch holes in the walls, kick right through the shower and sink — he'd accept a _thousand _revenge kicks from Ian Gallagher just to _never _have to share a bed with that bitch or for the chance to refuse this marriage.

But the deal was done and it was his own fault.

As disgusted and disgusting as he felt in this moment... He'd have to swallow all of that down. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and Ian Gallagher was a figment of his childhood.


End file.
